Summerpurse

I had a rough time last week. I am sure the people around me had a rough week as well. I try my hardest to be patient and kind. I treat people the way I would like to be treated. Not really, I just ball it all up inside and then spew venom on occasion.

I am aware I have this issue now. In college I took a class which dealt with human nature and different personalities. When the professor spoke about people who show no emotion and keep it all inside until it gnaws away at them like a parasite, my best friend looked directly at me. An ex-boyfriend across the room pointed at me. This was the first time I had been made aware of the problem. Years later a therapist told me sarcasm was not an emotion. I beg to differ.

Venom was on the menu last week. I know what it is like to be on the receiving end of a bitchy person. I spend my days making sure everyone is happy. Let me rephrase that. I spend my days kissing ass. Occasionally I stand my ground or make a point with someone, but I do it with a smile. It is my job. I also do not raise my voice when dealing with other adults. Last week I was screaming. “You WILL make it right and you WILL make me happy!” This lovely tirade was unleashed on a business man who said he would try to make it right and make me happy. As my father always told me – “Try my ass. You will do it.” This dude obviously did not grow up with Jim and Jonell.

This is a rare occurrence. People often tell me I have the patience of a saint. I am no saint, but I am a fan of the Saints. As a matter of fact, when they played an exhibition game against Dallas a few years ago, we went to the game. I looked forward to this game for weeks. We rented a bus to take us from the hotel to the game and back. We had a huge group of friends going with us, and we had front row seats on the 50 yard line. I am a big fan. I am an even bigger fan of good seats. It just so happened that this was the first game for Reggie Bush. People were constantly standing in front of us taking pictures with cell phones of Reggie, themselves with Reggie in the background, etc. Do you think this is Olan F. Mills? This is a football game! Get your ass out of my view!

Security was a joke. This went on and on for the entire game. The only thing that squelched the fire growing inside me was $7 Miller Lite. The fourth quarter rolls around and some six foot tall jackass with his chest painted orange and an orange cone on his head proceeds to stand directly in front of us. At first I politely tapped him on the shoulder and asked him to move. He ignored me and turned around. I then poked him in the back and told him to move. He looked down at me and said,”F^$# You, Bitch.”

Did this asshole just say this to me? The F you was bad enough, but he had to throw bitch in there? I got a babysitter and used vacation days for this game. We saved money for this. I bought a new nightgown to wear in the hotel room! I even bought expensive bath salts to use in the hotel sunken tub so I could have a nice bath by myself without three kids and a dog interrupting me nonstop. THIS IS BULLSHIT!

I took my favorite purse with the canvas sides and proceeded to beat him with it.

I got in a few licks before my husband pulled me away. I made my point. I felt better. But what tops it all off, was that conehead called the cops on me. Really? How did he describe me to the cops? A brunette with an I Love Chad shirt on, khaki shorts, flip flops, about five feet tall, and carrying a canvas bag with orange pain smeared on it. She sounds like a real troublemaker! Regardless, I ran.

I was terrified the “alleged incident” had made it on TV, so I called my mother to head off any issues. After explaining the scenario to her she simply replied, “The asshole deserved it.”

Thanks Nana.